


A Very Nana Christmas

by missingnowrites



Series: A Family Of Liars And Lies [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fake AH Crew, Family Drama, Family Issues, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gavin has a golden tongue, M/M, Michael and Gavin are very protective of their boyfriend, Michael has anger management issues, Multi, Nana is a peach, Protectiveness, Ryan's mother has trust issues, bamf!gavin, so does Ryan (not that he admits this)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22093960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnowrites/pseuds/missingnowrites
Summary: Ryan takes his boyfriends to Georgia for christmas, where they meet his mother for the first time. Ryan would rather they don't.
Relationships: Gavin Free/Ryan Haywood/Michael Jones
Series: A Family Of Liars And Lies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590301
Comments: 14
Kudos: 88





	A Very Nana Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainKaysno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKaysno/gifts).



> First of the Winter Prompts! Kays asked for a christmas sequel to Devil's From Downtown Georgia.

Michael was sitting out on the veranda with Ryan, legs swinging idly as they watched the sun set, when the car arrived. A woman stepped out on red stiletto heels, barely visible in the porchlight, and Ryan stiffened next to him. Michael took his cue from his boyfriend, jumping off the veranda and standing at his side, waiting for the woman to approach. Her black fur coat swished around her legs as she walked across the gravel with long, steady steps.

“Well,” the woman said as she stopped in front of them, gaze gliding up and down, taking Michael’s scruffy outfit in from his scuffed boots to his worn leather jacket. He crossed his arms instinctively, narrowing his eyes at her. “You must be Ryan’s latest… _boyfriend_.” Her painted smile twitched as she said the words.

“Might be,” Michael returned, making a show of leaning into Ryan, who draped his arm over Michael’s shoulders. “What’s it to you?”

“Michael,” Ryan interrupted, and his tone was blank. Michael tensed immediately, because that was his _Vagabond_ voice. The one that masked whatever he was feeling, usually fear or anger. Sometimes both. “May I introduce you to my mother.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” the woman responded, her nose wrinkling just the slightest bit before her face smoothed out. Michael couldn’t help but notice that neither Ryan nor his mother exchanged greetings with one another.

“I’m not,” he drawled, arching a brow in clear challenge. Ryan never really talked about the woman who was supposed to raise him, that honour belonged to Nana Haywood. Based on his own family history, Michael could only come to so many conclusions based on that.

The woman’s smile thinned, and she gave Michael another obvious once over.

“No, I don’t suppose you’d much care for class.” She tossed back her hair with a dismissive flick of her hand, finally turning to address Ryan. “Doubtful that this one will last long. Really, dear, wherever did you get your appalling taste in men from?”

“I believe that would be you, _Mother_ ,” Ryan snapped. She sniffed, but didn’t deny Ryan’s accusation. Michael grit his teeth and swallowed his anger. He wasn’t here to antagonize Ryan’s family, and since they were staying for the next couple days, it might get awkward if he did.

The woman, on the other hand, apparently didn’t get the memo.

“I suppose it can’t be helped. Here.” Ryan’s mother held out a business card daintily between two manicured fingers, letting go the moment Michael held out his hand. He fumbled to catch the card as it fluttered, catching the curl of disgust around her mouth from the corner of his eyes. “My number. Should you ever need it.”

“What are you getting at?” Michael asked, his tone turning snappish with impatience. He was sure there was a dig hidden in those words, even when he didn’t know what. Ryan’s arm around his shoulders tightened, fingers digging lightly into his arm. His mother’s painted lips curled into the simile of a smile, her blue eyes colder than a Russian winter.

“I’m a divorce lawyer, darlin’.” Her eyes flickered up to meet Ryan’s, her expression tightening. Michael opened his mouth, anger burning in his gut, because how _dare_ she imply-

“Triad marriages would have to be legal first,” Gavin interjected smoothly as he came up behind them, smiling his most fakest smile at Ryan’s mother. He’d clearly lingered in the doorway, eavesdropping. “Wouldn’t they, Mrs. Haywood?”

“Please,” she responded, shaking his hand with a limp wrist, her smile just as fake. “Mrs. Haywood is my mother.”

She didn’t offer an alternative, either, and Gavin let his smile bare teeth for just a moment.

“Of course.” He turned to Michael, smile softening. “Nana was looking for you, boi. Something about mushroom pie?”

Michael lit up immediately, eager to escape the situation. “Yeah, she promised to teach me.” He leaned in, brushing a kiss to Gavin’s cheek. “Thanks, boi.”

Gavin lingered as Michael ducked out without looking back at Ryan’s mother once, who in turn was mustering Gavin with great interest.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” she said at last, when Gavin refused to break the tense silence.

“We haven’t,” Gavin agreed, brow arching up in challenge. Her eyes flashed with something not quite like annoyance, but not quite like respect either. Her gaze flickered to Ryan, who crossed his arms, clearly keeping out of their little power struggle but unwilling to leave Gavin alone with his mother.

“Veronica,” she introduced herself, eyes lingering on Ryan thoughtfully before finally meeting Gavin’s. “Ryan’s mother.”

“Gavin,” he returned politely, mouth quirking up, voice just a tad smug. “Ryan’s boyfriend.”

“And here I thought I’d already met my son’s boyfriend earlier.” She laughed as if inviting Gavin to join in her joke. Gavin blinked slowly, and between one blink and the other, his face turned into a mask of sympathy.

“Michael’s also our boyfriend.” He reached out and caught her hand as she instinctively moved to shake his again, patting it instead. “I know it can be quite… confusing at first.”

This time, her eyes flashed with both obvious annoyance _and_ respect. “Because you are in a… what did you call it? Triad?”

“That’s the term, yes,” Gavin agreed, giving her hand one last pat before letting go. To her credit, Ryan’s mother let it drop to her side as if he hadn’t just gotten one over her. Ryan was watching their exchange with growing amusement, if still tense and ready to intervene. Gavin cocked his head, glancing up at him from under long lashes. “I think I just heard Nana calling for you, Rye.”

“Did you now.” Ryan’s voice remained dry, knowing very well what Gavin was up to. Still, he played along, leaning down to give him a chaste kiss. “Guess I’ll have to go check what she needs.”

“Guess so,” Gavin agreed in his most guileless tone.

Ryan shot his mother one last, warning look before turning around and going back inside, leaving her and Gavin alone on the porch. Once inside, he could smell the amazing scents wafting from the kitchen of baking pies and still cooling cookies. Christmas on the Haywood farm had always been traditional to a T, with Nana pretending the Russian New Years dishes she smuggled in were simply a city thing. Once Gramps had passed away, she’d grown a bit more open about the mixing of traditions, at least to her family.

She didn’t go as far as making borsch, though. That would be a tad too obvious for the former spy.

“There you are, sweetpea,” Nana greeted him from where she hovered over Michael’s shoulder, supervising him as he kneaded the pie dough. “Michael dear informed me Veroshka made it. You didn’t get into a fight with her, did you, sweetpea?”

“No, Nana,” Ryan replied dutifully, which had the advantage of being true for once. She still eyed him suspiciously. “Gavin is trying his charm on Mother right now.”

“Good luck,” Michael scoffed, only to get a light slap over the head from Nana.

“None of that now. I know Vera can be difficult when she chooses to, but you’re family. She will learn.”

Ryan sighed, unconvinced. His mother never liked anyone he brought home, ever since his very first girlfriend. He tried to avoid introducing any subsequent lovers, because it never went well, and he’d rather not have that talk with his boyfriends. For that matter…

“I thought Mother was spending Christmas up in New York with her fancy new firm?” Ryan directed that question at Nana, even as he moved to haul the dishes from the cupboard. Dinner wouldn’t be ready for a while yet, but Nana hadn’t raised him to just stand by idle as others worked.

“Would you have brought your boys over if I told you, hm?” Nana asked, motioning for Michael to move the dough into the pan. Ryan didn’t respond because they both knew the answer. “That’s what I thought. Now, you want the mushrooms to sit on a bed of rice, like so-”

Ryan sighed and left Michael to his nana’s tender mercies, knowing better than to argue. When he carried the dishes over to the dining room, he found his other boyfriend had made his way inside, offering a glass of red wine to his mother. She had draped her fur coat over the back of a chair, which was sure to draw Nana’s ire when she saw. Ryan suspected that’s why his mother did it in the first place.

“Ryan! Do you have a decanter?”

Ryan blinked, setting the dishes on the wooden table. “Uh. Maybe?”

Gavin exchanged a speaking look with his mother, before winking at Ryan. “Right. I’ll ask Nana.”

“Uh huh.” Ryan raised a brow in question, but Gavin simply pressed a kiss to his cheek, angled perfectly for his mother’s view - a demonstration? - before swanning off to the kitchen. Ryan stared after him, entranced by the sway of his hips, until his mother cleared her throat.

“He’s quite something,” she said, sipping her wine and arching a brow at Ryan which he mimicked immediately. Her voice lacked the usual contempt.

“He is,” he agreed, waiting warily for the trap. But the words didn’t come. Instead, his mother hummed to herself, eyeing him over the rim of her glass. Then she turned abruptly, stalking over to the table to set the wine glass down, liquid splashing dangerously close to the rim. Back turned to him, she finally spoke.

“Does he… they… make you happy?”

“They do.” Ryan crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

His mother swallowed, fingers tracing up the long stem of the glass before she let her hand drop away.

“He reminds me of… someone,” his mother mused, glancing back over her shoulder at him. “So young and full of energy. A way with words and every confidence that they will get him what he wants…”

“I know his tells. I know when he lies,” Ryan interrupted, bristling because he knew where this was going. “And he knows better than to lie to me.”

His mother paused, turning to look at him. “I suppose there’s that.” A genuine smile played around her mouth, making her look less plastic for once. “Mom raised quite the pretty little liars, didn’t she?”

“So he fits in perfectly. So what?”

“I’ve only ever wanted your happiness,” she murmured, averting her eyes. Ryan sneered.

“Could have fooled me.”

“You trust too easily,” she snapped, picking up her glass again and taking a big swallow. “I only ever tried to protect you, but you’re so… so…!”

“Full of trust issues?” A voice interrupted, and they both turned to see Michael in the doorway, carrying a bowl of gherkin salad. “Suspicious of everyone’s motives?” He walked up to the table, purposefully passing between Ryan and his mother to set the bowl on the table. “Hard to win over?”

Michael came to stand half next, half in front of Ryan, crossing his arms. Ryan’s mother pursed her lips.

“And what would you know?” she snapped, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a jerk of her head.

“We’ve all got our issues, lady,” Michael returned unerringly, shoulder bumping into Ryan’s. “And you need to stop projecting.”

“So I should just let him run into the knife? He’s my son!”

“You should back off and let him live his life.” Michael shrugged, dropping his arms, hand finding Ryan’s and intertwining their fingers. “He gets to make his own mistakes.”

“Which we hopefully don’t turn out to be,” Gavin piped up, having snuck up on them with his own bowl of porridge. “And if we do, I’m sure Ryan is more than capable of killing us before you get to us, so.”

His mother opened her mouth, but before she could reply, Nana bustled past Ryan.

“Well said. Now, if everyone can stop being dramatic for a bit, how about we eat, hm? I did not prepare a three course meal only for no one to appreciate it.” She levelled a stern look at Ryan and then his mother. “Or did I?”

“No, Nana,” Ryan gave in first, holding up his hands in surrender, including the one Michael was still holding. Nana nodded decisively, rounding the table to sit in the head chair. “Now, Vera, dear, how often do I have to tell you that a chair isn’t a coat rack, sweetheart?”

His mother rolled her eyes and sighed, plopping into her claimed chair. “Yes, Mom.”

“Don’t just ‘yes, mom’ me, Veroshka.” Nana harrumphed. “Youngsters these days, I swear. No manners anymore.”

Gavin and Michael sat down on either side of Ryan, Michael still holding his hand and bumping their shoulders together, and Gavin reaching out to squeeze his knee under the table, winking at him when Ryan caught his eyes. Ryan smiled and ducked his head.

When he looked up, his mother was watching them with an inscrutable look on her face. Ryan felt his smile slip, but before he could say anything, she gave him the smallest nod, barely moving her head, then turned to Nana to comment on the dishes.

Michael squeezed his hand and Gavin leaned in close, asking for him to pass the potato salad.

And slowly, Ryan relaxed, not quite trusting the truce, but not willing to break it either. Besides, Nana had outdone herself once again. And who could argue when faced with her cooking?

**Author's Note:**

> You don't know how close I came to titling this The Devil Wears Prada. I friggin love Veronica, new fave OC.
> 
> Sidenote, her Russian name is Vera, but to keep her husband ignorant of her Russian roots, Nana only called her that as a nickname. Veroshka is my stab at guessing how Veronica would be transformed in the Russian tradition of familiarity-nicknaming. Like, there's levels of how that works: Natalia becomes Natasha becomes Natashenka, e.g. It's fascinating!


End file.
